


Rather Than Later

by SomewhereApart



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calleigh and Eric talk about the future. A total fluffball of a ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rather Than Later

They were tucked into bed together, talking quietly to wind down the day, when the topic came up that would change everything.

"The cases with the babies always kill me," she admitted quietly. "They're so innocent and helpless. And their lives are never going to be the same."

"Yeah," he murmured, shifting slightly against her and adjusting the arm she was using as a pillow. "And he was pretty cute. What was his name again?"

"Lucas," Calleigh answered slowly, weighing the name on her tongue. "Lucas Grady. And he wasn't cute, he was _gorgeous_. Those eyes, and all that hair? Come on. My uterus skipped a beat every time I looked at him."

Eric chuckled softly, nuzzling into her hair and pressing a kiss there. "Do you want kids?"

"Yeah. Someday." She shifted, turned onto her side until they were nose-to-nose and she could brush her lips softly against his. "You?"

"Mm. Of course. You know that."

"I think you'd be a good dad," she told him, watching the way his face split into a grin. She hadn't quite realized the extent of the complement she'd given.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"I think you'd be a good mom," he told her in turn, his palm finding its way under the loose t-shirt she wore and coasting lazily up her spine. "Patient."

Calleigh felt her lips curve into a smile, and pressed a hand over his heart. She'd been going to say something, but she couldn't remember what, so she just paused for a minute, counted the steady beat under her hand, and tried to imagine them as parents. Just for a moment. She'd be the disciplinarian; he'd be the pushover. She'd teach a little girl about guns and lip gloss, and he'd teach a little boy about baseball and how to treat women.

"How many?" he asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

"What?"

"How many do you want?"

She didn't even have to think about it. "Two."

"Just two?"

"Mmhmm. You have three, the middle child feels left out. And four just seems like a lot of work." She laughed softly, and he ticked his fingertips across her back and made her shiver. "Why? How many do you want?"

"However many."

"Hey." She poked him in the chest, hard enough for him to wince and laugh as he muttered a soft "ow." Calleigh rubbed gently at the spot she'd jabbed to soothe it. "I told you, you tell me."

"A lot," he admitted, smirking at her. "I'm Cuban, remember? We're big on family."

"How many is a lot?"

"I don't know. Four. Six."

" _Six??_ " Calleigh questioned, brows shooting up. She caught herself just before she asked what kind of baby factory he expected her to be. They'd only been dating a few months; she didn't want to assume that he wanted those six kids to come from her. I mean, she thought he did, maybe, probably, but…

"Or, y'know, two. Whatever." He was grinning at her now, and she imagined it had something to do with the gobsmacked look she must have been wearing, so she pulled herself together. "As long as they're healthy, I don't care how many."

Shaking her head slightly and laughing at him, Calleigh traced her fingertips over the fabric of his shirt again and tried to do the math on six kids. Even if they started right now, and had a baby every two years, she'd be almost fifty by the time she had the last one. Hell, even with four she'd been well into her forties and chasing after babies. And that was only if she got pregnant _now._ It was a sobering realization, one that made her heart ache a little, and her head spin.

"You're drifting," he murmured, and she lifted her gaze to his, smiled a little when she realized her face had fallen. "Where to?"

"I was just thinking…"

"What?"

"I was just thinking about…" Shrugging her shoulder a little uncomfortably, she lowered her voice and offered a quiet confession. "I'm afraid it will never happen for me. Kids. My own, anyway."

His brows drew together in confusion and he shook his head slightly. "Why?"

"There's kind of… a window." She chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Biologically speaking. I'm not getting any younger. I'm already at that age where it's considered more of a risk, and… I don't know. What if it's too late?"

"Calleigh, plenty of women in their thirties have kids," he assured, drawing his hand from her shirt to run it through her hair.

"I know. But I'm rapidly approaching that 'late thirties' category, and… there aren't kids in my immediate future, so…" She shook her head, shrugged dismissively. This conversation was depressing her – and right before bedtime. "Doesn't matter. Forget it."

"There could be." His words were slow, almost hesitant.

"Could be what?" She had a feeling she knew, but…

"Kids. In your immediate future."

"Eric…" She'd known. She'd known, but the reality of it was altogether different than the idea.

"I just mean…" He frowned, speaking slowly as if he was choosing his words carefully. "I love you. If you want kids sooner rather than later… I'm open to that."

Part of her – a tiny, tiny part that she blamed on estrogen and a rapidly ticking biological clock – screamed for her to say YES, GOD, YES, but the rest of her quickly silenced it with a heavy dose of overwhelmed reality. "Eric, we've been together for what? Four months? It's a little… soon."

"Not right now," he insisted gently, drawing his fingers through her hair again until he could cup the back of her head. "But… I want you to have my kids. So if you… if, you know, in the not-so-distant future, you decide you want kids… I don't want you to feel like you'll scare me off or something by talking about it."

Her lips curved, and the weak fist of anxiety around her heart loosened a bit, and she nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

She heard herself speak and thought she sounded unnervingly… professional about the whole thing. But he didn't seem to mind. He smiled at her, and kissed her again, slowly, like he was sealing the conversation. "Just ask, when you're ready. We can talk about it again."

With a nod, she snuggled closer, closing her eyes finally, and trying to quiet her mind into sleep.

Six months later, they would pass the BabyGAP in the mall and she would stop and grab his hand, pointing out a heart-melting dress with little pink ducks all over it. He let her tug him inside, and then he talked her into buying it. The next day, she tossed her birth control pills in the trash. A year later, Benjamin Caleb Delko was born. And it was not a day too late.


End file.
